


Brought Up, Not Dragged

by My_floaty_coaty_boy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Castiel in Drag, Drag Queen Castiel, M/M, i started this, i'll never finish probs lol, soul marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 11:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15662280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_floaty_coaty_boy/pseuds/My_floaty_coaty_boy
Summary: Dean goes to college. He meets his soulmate.





	Brought Up, Not Dragged

**Author's Note:**

> this is a WIP. I have a little more, but i probs wont finish it unless y'all want me to. It was inspired by Kinky Boots, then it changed. 
> 
> Castiel's drag name is the only good idea i've ever had

For as long as Dean Winchester could remember, he wanted to make clothes. Ever since he saw the photos of his mother in her wedding dress, and then the amazing outfits on the people on the dancing shows she’d watch, fashion had stolen his heart.

His father had wanted him to join the family business--Winchester Auto Shop--and tried desperately to teach Dean anything he could get to stick, but Dean was avid on his career choice, although he never told his father the truth. John Winchester tried again to instill the love of engineering into Dean’s younger brother Sam, when he was born, with even less success. 

Dean adored his brother. He had done since the moment he’d been brought home, and while hed mourned their mother, who’d never made it out the delivery room, he made certain that Sam never felt as though he was at fault, or was lesser. He knew that kid better than anyone knew anything, from the shaggy brown hair to the little black flame silhouette on his forearm: his soul mark--like everyone’s, would remain inky until Sam touched his soulmate for the first time, when it would flood with colour.

Dean’s own soulmark lay on his left shoulder blade, a twirly black feather. Dean tried not to think about it: whoever his soulmate was, Dean knew his red-state, ex-marine father wouldn’t be pleased about quite how... _ boyish _ they’d be. Because, Dean had known from an early age, his soulmate would be a boy. That was also  _ why _ he didn’t tell his father about his ambition, instead telling him that he was studying journalism. 

And it wasn’t like he didn’t like girls, it was just...boys had a certain  _ thing _ that he could feel himself loving. And that terrified him.

So, he dove into his studies: He kept his grades up at school, and during the day dedicated himself to his faux journalism career. Every evening he’d work on his sketches; bright, elegant and extravagant outfits, both dresses and suits, (which he thought was a rather fitting metaphor for his own identity.) 

Dean studied hard, well aware that his wages from the two jobs he worked and anything his dad would give him would not go too far towards the tuition fees to any university. He worked on a secret design portfolio, collecting fabric scraps on which he’d practise his sewing techniques, and began to write for the Lawrence Local News when he was sixteen to keep up the illusion.

He just hoped it would be enough.

When it came to applying to colleges, one teacher, Mr Singer, pulled him aside.

“Where you applyin’ to, boy?”

“I dunno, Bobby. Dad wants me to go to KU, so I figured i’d just apply there.”

“That’s ‘Mr Singer’ durin’ school hours, boy, and you know as well as I do that you have to apply to five. Try Columbia.”

“What? Ivy League? Bobby, you know I ain’t gettin’ in to that.”

Bobby glared at him from his wheelchair and pulled him to sit onto the desk. “Listen, boy. Stop sellin’ yourself short. If you wanna go to KU, then apply, but there’s no harm in shootin’ your shot for Columbia, or even NYU.”

Dean huffed. “OK, OK, I’ll apply. But  _ you’re _ explainin’ this to Dad at the barbeque this weekend.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Sure, sure. If you apply, I’ll tell your aunt to bring some burgers.”

Dean grinned. “You know I’d do anythin’ for Ellen’s food.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I dunno, Sam. You’re gonna be a kickass lawyer, and one of us has to stay here for dad, but... New York sounds...”

“New? Exciting?  _ Liberal _ ?” Sam offered, closing his book (some Stephen King one Dean had leant him) and raising an eyebrow. 

Sam had known about Dean’s leaning-one-way-bisexuality for a few years now, after he’d caught Dean’s first (and only) kiss with a guy behind the bikeshed at Lawrence High with a boy called Aaron. He also knew about the fashion, since all little brothers had an affinity for snooping. Dean nipped that in the bud when Sam had found something a little less innocent. “You don’t have to stay here, Dean. I think it would be good for you to go to New York.”

“But I grew up here, man. Everything we know is here. I don’t...I don’t know what to do about dad, and...New York’s a long way away, man. I don’t know anyone.”

“So, you’ll meet new people, and find new places! You might even find whoever’s soulmate mark matches that feather of yours.” Sam smiled. “Why not try this: Go to New York. Try it out, and if you feel like it’s not what you want, you can always come back.”

“I can’t go and then come back! People’ll laugh at me, i’ll be the... _ failure _ of Lawrence, the guy that  _ almost _ made it in New York but didn’t, and came cryin’ back to his dad.”

“I can’t make this decision for you, Dean.  Maybe you should go there for, like, a week--just to see what it’s like, before you get any letters back. You’ve never been, so you can’t really know. And, hey, are you really saying that if Columbia accepted you, you’d say  _ ‘no _ ’?!”

Dean thought about that. He applied to Columbia, and NYU, as well as some smaller, closer colleges.

During a weekend before graduation he took the car his father had given him, a sleek black 1967 Chevvy Impala that Dean simply adored, and drove to New York with Sam. Just to check it out. It was a long drive, and they were close to killing each other by the end of it, but they got there.

“So, Dean, what are we gonna do?”

“I figured we’d look around the neighbourhood, see what the college is like.”

“Uh-huh, sure, sure. Is that why we’re slowing down outside this club?” 

Dean’s eyes snapped away from the window and at his brother. “What? No, it--it’s just traffic, Sammy.”

“Oh, of course. But also, y’know, I wasn’t joking when I said New York was liberal, and...Well, I just think you’d be happy here.” Sam avoided Dean’s glare, suddenly becoming very interested in the flowing rainbow flag out front of the club.

 

The day went quick, and sometime around eleven, Dean was glad they’d found somewhere to park for the night. They’d planned on sleeping in the Impala, but not before checking out the nightlife. Sure, both of them were visibly underage, so getting into any clubs was pretty much impossible, but it was nice just to wander.

Until, that was, they found the club with the rainbow flag out front. 

“ _ ‘Pur-gay-tory,’”  _ Sam read, chuckling at the pun. “Well, i don’t think i can go in, but we can always--”

“ _ C’m‘ere!” _

The slurred voice took them by surprise, and they both reflexively turned. Dean pushed himself in front of Sam to separate him from the group of guys coming their way. Except, when the group managed to stumble past them, Dean realised that maybe they weren’t the intended target. Indeed, the leather-jacket-drenched group moved past them towards a figure in the alley beside the club, in a deep blue sequined dress that caught the light of the streetlamps, mostly hidden by a tan-coloured long coat. The group was still approaching the figure, jeering and sneering, while their target gracefully slammed her hand against the wall of the club, bent over, and hurled. For a moment, the only sounds in the alley were the gagging, wet sounds of vomit and the smug chuckles of the group of guys. Dean winced at the smell and pushed Sammy back some more.

“Aww, that’s OK, darlin’, you make us  _ sick _ too!” One of the group, probably the leader, judging by how he stepped ahead of the rest. He walked up to the vomiting figure and gripped her dark hair, pulling her up to face him. He drew his other fist back, and that’s when Dean’s fight-or-flight kicked in. And Dean had never been one for running away.

“ _ Hey _ ! Back off!” He moved closer to the group, glancing back to send Sam a ‘stay there and stay quiet’ look. 

The group sent him withering looks, and one spoke up. “This ain’t your business, kid. Get lost.” 

“C’mon, guys, whatever’s goin’ on, it doesn’t have to end in violence.”

“Fuck  _ off _ , you don’ know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.” The leader sneered.

“Listen, I’m not gonna leave an’ let y’all beat her up.” Dean glared.

The group chuckled, turning away from the woman briefly. “It’s OK, man, it’s not what you think.”

“I  _ think  _ you should leave.” 

“Thank you for your chivalry, but I can handle this.” The new voice came about two seconds before the sickening crack of a cheekbone as the leader of the group hit the floor, his head smacking onto the pavement. 

The woman, whose voice was in _ sanely _ deep, straightened herself fully, and spoke again. “Now, boys, do you really wanna fight me?” 

The group stared for a few seconds until the leader tried to roll over. The woman kicked him in the stomach with the heel of her boot and he groaned. That sparked them into action.

Dean grabbed Sam’s arm as they ran past them, keeping his little brother close.

The woman stared after them, then turned her gaze to the Winchesters. 

“Well. Thank you for...interrupting. You didn’t have to do that.” 

Dean nodded, too busy taking in the features of her face. 

She had long, dark hair that before this had probably sat in perfect curls around her shoulders. Her features were quite square, but her makeup, evidently intended for a nightclub, made them appear delicate. And her eyes. Hre eyes, that contained more shades of blue than Dean had ever seen. 

Evidently, he’d spent too long staring, because Sam spoke up. “I-I’m Sam. This is Dean.”

“Uh--hey. Sorry, I-uhm…” 

The woman smiled. “Call me Angela. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a performance in about two minutes. I hope I’ll see you inside.”

“Actually, We’re both underage. I’m not even eighteen.” Sam hummed.

Angela’s brow furrowed. “Hmm. Well, I hope I’ll see you both again sometime.” She strode between them, brushing Dean’s shoulder as she did so. 

When the door closed behind her, Sam turned to him. “Oh, my  _ god _ . You couldn’t even  _ talk _ !” He erupted into laughter, and Dean shoved him lightly.

“Shuttup.” 

“Man, I can’t believe it; your first night in New York and you’re already getting hit on by performers!”

Dean glared. “Come on, squirt, it’s past your bedtime.” He grabbed Sam’s arm again and began to walk to the car.

The walk was full of drunk-ish groups of varying numbers. There was a group of guys on a bachelor party, and they slapped the Winchesters on their shoulders obnoxiously as they walked past. There was a group of college kids, maybe a year older than Dean, one of whom fell onto him when she tripped on the curb. 

But, eventually, they slid into the Impala, Sam taking the backseat, Dean in the front. 

“So, what did you think? Think you could go here?”

“...Y’know, Sam, I think I could. I kinda wanna meet some new people already, y’know?”

“Sure, you just wanna meet Angela again, huh? The  _ knight in shining armour _ she could’ve done without?”

“Shuddup, bitch.”

“Whatever. Night, jerk.” Sam mumbled through a yawn.

“Night, weirdo .” Dean replied.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~

Dean had never realised just how  _ loud _ his ringtone could be. 

Sam groaned and reached over the seat to slap him awake, and Dean picked up his phone from the dash.

“H-Hello?”

“ _ Dean, when are you coming home?” _

“Oh, hi, dad. We’re gonna head off now--”

“ _ You haven’t left already? Dean, you should have left two hours ago! Ellen and Bobby are coming over tomorrow for this barbeque, and after you left you got some stuff in the post and--” _

“OK, OK, dad, we’ll leave right now, and get to you tomorrow morning.”

Sam had scrambled into the front seat and by the time Dean had managed to hang up, was ready to go. 

Dean threw the phone onto the seat and leant over, grabbing his duffel and searching through it for a new shirt. When he shucked his old one off, Sam gasped. “Dean! Your soulmark!”

Dean looked at his brother while pulling his new shirt on. “What about it?”

“It’s not black anymore!” Sam grabbed Dean’s phone and pulled the shirt back up to reveal Dean’s shoulder blade and snapped a picture to show him. “See?”

Indeed, the feather that had previously been a blank, black shape was now flooded with colours: blues and greens of every shade filled out tiny details in the twisting form.

“Holy...Who could it have been? We bumped into a lot of people last night, I don’t...I don’t know who it could’ve been.”

“I do.” Sam grinned. “You seemed pretty keen on that girl outside the club.”

Dean rolled his eyes and started the car. “You know as well as I do my soulmate won’t be some chick. The only other person it could be is one of those guys on the bachelor party.”

“Sure you didn’t brush past any of those guys that tried to beat her up?”

“God, I hope not. I think I’d rather not have one at all.” Dean grunted, pulling the car out of the space and setting off on their long, long car ride, full of Sam’s incessant wondering.

“Well, you gotta go to New York, now. You won’t find them anywhere else.” 

“Just remember the area and maybe you’ll see them again.”

“Maybe put out a ‘missed connection’ on something.”

~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*

After too long, the Impala pulled into their Lawrence driveway. Dean shut off the engine, grabbed his duffell, and followed Sam up the pathway. As soon as they were inside, Dean made his way to his room and fell onto his bed, asleep as soon as he hit the mattress.

*~**~*~*~*~*~*~**~

“ _ Dean _ ...wake uu-up...Dean!” Something small and bratty shook his shoulder, pulling him from rest. He rolled away, but Sam just edged closer and kept whispering, “c’mon, Dean, I know you’re awake!”

“What?” Dean groaned, stubbornly keeping his eyes shut. 

“Something came in the post. From Columbia. It’s a pretty big envelope..” This last was sing-song-y, and Dean finally felt tempted enough to roll over and look at his brother. 

“Then gimme it, bitch.”

Sam gave him the envelope and Dean pushed back a yawn, moving himself to sit against the wall. He opened the envelope, careful not to rip anything inside. He didn’t pull the contents out yet.

“Well? Go on!” Sam egged him on, but Dean shook his head.

“Nah, you do it. I-I can’t.” He shoved the envelope away. “Do it.”

Sam sighed heavily and took the envelope, dropping the letter onto the duvet. He took it and began to read. “Dear Mr Winchester,” He paused and glanced up before carrying on, “Every year we receive thousands of applications for our design courses.”

“Oh, God, that sounds like a rejection, I don’t even know why I--”

“We are pleased to inform--”

“‘Pleased’?! Sammy, ‘ _ pleased _ ’?! I got in?”

Sam cheered and threw his arms around his brother. “You did it! You got in! You’re goin’ to New York!”

“I’m goin’ to New York! I got into Columbia!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*

At the barbeque, they told John and Bobby and Ellen about Columbia, casually avoiding the name of the course,  _ ‘Fashion and Costume Design and Construction’. _

From then on, all Dean could think about was graduation and packing for New York. He bought a sewing machine, because it would be cheaper in Kansas than in NYC. Sam bought him a book of cheap-to-make recipes, which John made him practise. By the time September rolled around, Dean was ready to move into the dorms.

“I’m gonna miss you, Jerk.Don’t die out here, ‘kay?” 

Dean chuckled and paused sorting his vinyls to look at his brother. “I’ll be fine, Sammy. I’ll call all the time, it’ll be like I never left. You’ll be sick of me, I promise.”

They were the first to have made it to their floor, but in the time it had taken the three of them to move all the boxes from John’s truck and unpack most of Dean’s things, he’d seen a few people walk by with boxes and room keys of their own. Dean wasn’t surprised, then, when a voice from the hallway broke the silence.

“Oh! I-I’m sorry, I thought this was my room!” The brothers turned to the door to see a short red-headed girl in a green hoodie, over a shirt that had the TARDIS printed on it.

“Uh--no, this is mine. Four-oh-one. I’m Dean. This is my little brother, Sam.”

Sam waved and the girl smiled and waved back. “Hi, I’m Charlie. I thought this was 402. I look away for one second and this is what happens.” She laughed nervously, and Dean shrugged.

“No big deal. It’s nice to meet you, though. Lookin’ forward to bein’ your hallmate.”

Charlie grinned. “Is that a Star Wars poster?”

~*~*~*~~*~**~*~~*~

Dean and Charlie became fast friends, especially after Charlie began to talk to Sam about his life as well. They spent all day unpacking Charlie’s multitude of nerd culture artifacts and IT stuff, and by the time Sam had to leave with John, Dean was sure Charlie would miss him as much as he would.

The evening found them in the communal kitchen area. “So, what course are you doing?” Dean grinned as he chopped up some of the vegetables John had left him with, enough for a few days.

“I’m dual majoring--Coding, and Game Design. What about you?”

“Oh, that’s cool. I--uh...I’m doin’ fashion an’ costume design and construction. Though, if my dad asks, tell ‘im photojournalism.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. “Your dad doesn’t know what course you’re doing? Does Sam?”

“Yeah, Sam knows. But...Y’know, I’m from Kansas, an’ dad’s kind of...what you’d expect of a middle-aged white man from a red state, at least in terms of his views of masculinity, or...queer stuff.”

“...Ah. And...what are your views about ‘ _ queer stuff _ ?” Charlie’s voice held an edge to it that made Dean put down the knife and look at her.

“Different to his. I...I’m bi myself, kind of. That was actually one of the reasons I moved from Kansas.”

Charlie sighed, relieved. “OK, cool. I’m gay, so...I was worried for a sec there.” She laughed nervously again, and Dean returned to preparing their meal.

“It’s fine. I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Does Sam know about that?”

“Yeah, he does. Again, New York was kinda his idea.”

“Hey, we should join the GSA! I hear the one here’s pretty good.” Charlie grinned and stole a carrot stick.

Dean hummed non-committedly, but before he could reply they were joined by two other hall residents.

“Hey, man, what’s cookin’?” The first, a short guy with an unfortunate blond mullet, was grinning hugely. “I’m Ash, room four-oh-three, I’m second year and am apparently the one who is supposed to make sure y’all don’t burn this place down. This is Benny, he’s in four-oh-four.”

Dean nodded in way of greeting and began frying the vegetables. “I’m Dean, I’m in room 401. Charlie here’s in room 402. I’m makin’ curry.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

It turned out Ash was taking the same Coding course as Charlie, and Benny was learning how to be a physical therapist. The four ate together that night, talking about their lives back home: Charlie from Illinois, Ash from Texas, and Benny from Louisiana. They wondered who would be joining them in room 405, the last room in their hall. Charlie moved her Xbox under the communal TV and they took turns to play, laughing and passing the controller when the character died.

“Let’s go out,” Ash said when they finally got bored.

“Where to? None of us can drink.” Benny huffed.

“I can buy. We’ll just go somewhere dark.” 

“What a great role model you turned out to be.” Dean snorted.

“Ooh! Oh, I know!” Charlie grinned, turning of the console and practically bouncing up and down. “I saw a club on the drive here, it looked cool, we can go there!”

 

And so, twenty minutes later, Charlie was steering them down the street. 

“Hey, Char, is that your soulmark?” Ash gestured to a small black spot on the palm of her hand. She smiled at it.

“Yeah. I always used to dress up as a pirate on halloween,  _ plagued by the curse of the black spot _ .” 

They laughed, and Benny rolled up his sleeve to reveal a red arrow mark, about the size of a banknote. “This is mine.”

“You met them already?” Ash inquired.

“Yeah, in high school. Her name’s Andrea, she’s in NYU doin’ publishin’.”

“Woah, Benny, that’s great!” Dean grinned.

“What about you, Kansas? Got a soulmate?” Charlie questioned, spinning to face them but continuing to walk along the road, now backwards.

“Uh--It’s complicated. Yes, but I don’t know who they are.” 

“Can we see your mark?” Benny asked, and Dean sighed. 

“It’s in a kinda difficult place.”

“Is it on your ass?” Ash grinned.

Dean turned around to show them his back and lifted his shirt up to reveal his shoulder blade.

“Ooh, pretty!” Charlie hummed. “How are you gonna find them again?”

“I dunno, Char. Forget it.” 

Charlie looked like she wanted to say something, but Ash cheered. “I love this place! Let’s go in here!” 

He guided them towards a club that Dean found strangely familiar, from the dingy alley to the side of the building to the rainbow flag out front. “Wait, I know this place. Me an’ Sam helped stop a fight out here when we came to check out New York.”

“Cheapest--and best--drinks around, not that we  _ can _ drink.” Ash snorted. “I know the owner, he’ll let us have a few. Plus, the entertainment ain’t half bad.”

“I met one of the performers, but she didn’t tell me what kind thing she did.” Dean offered, and Ash laughed again.

“Man, then let’s go in and we can see if we can reunite ya!”

~*~*~*~~*~**~*~*~*~*

They got inside fairly easily; the bouncer recognised Ash and told them that they could go in, but not have any drinks. A message that Ash instantly disregarded when he greeted the bartender happily and took their orders. They found a table in the middle of the room and sat down.

“So, Dean-O, tell me, who’d ya meet last time?” Ash pried, but before Dean could reply, a voice from onstage spoke up.

“ _ Ladies, gentlemen, and those who don’t settle for either! PurGaytory is proud to present: The queen of the coates, the blue-eyed noirette, the OG ‘Angel With a Shotgun’: Angela Thursdays!”   _

Dean didn’t recognise the track that began to play, but he recognised the woman that walked out:

She was wearing a long tan trench coat, embroidered with swirling, colourful designs that looked like if Van Gogh had painted a rainbow. She had dark tights and dark blue platform heels, as if she needed to be taller. Her blue eyes shone from under painted eyelids, and her hair sat at shoulder length, curled pristinely in what looked like cat ears, or maybe a bow, on her head, above one side of which a halo made of mirror fragments reflected the stage lights celestially. 

The song began to pick up as Angela Thursdays commanded the attention of the audience, mouthing along to the words. As the song climbed dramatically towards the first chorus, Angela’s moves became stronger and more dramatic.

Then, the bridge, and Angel turned away from the audience. For a few seconds, there was a pause, and then chorus dropped, and so did Angela’s coat. The dress that was revealed was form-fitting and royal blue, with a high hip and a mermaid skirt, flaring out in a puddle on the floor. The fabric bunched together around the shoulders, and the neckline fell to mid-chest. It was store bought, and cheaply made, but she made it look good. For Dean, the ambiance she so carefully created lessened slightly; the ethereal performer clothed in something polyester and cheap. However, the audience whooped and cheered for the reveal, including Dean’s group, and as she moved to the music, she looked over at them.

Dean saw the surprise the flit across her face when they made eye contact. She stepped from the stage as the song slowed again momentarily and began to make her way around the room, followed by a glaring spotlight. She flirted with audience members soundlessly until she reached their table. She smiled at Benny, who was closest, brushed her hand over Ash’s shoulder on her way past. She placed her hand lightly on Charlie’s cheek for a moment before turning her attention to Dean. She looked him over, and trailed a hand down his chest with all the force of a feather, and leant forward so her mouth was close to his ear. 

“ _ Meet me outside after the show.” _

She pulled back, searching his expression for comprehension, and when he nodded, she smiled and pulled away quickly, back into the energy of the song. As she turned away from them, Dean saw her back and shoulder blades, revealed by the backless panel of the dress, the fabric grouped around the small of her back. Her shoulder blades and upper arms were decorated in a large tattoo of wings, splayed out magnificently across her tanned skin. Dozens of feathers made up the image, all an ambiguous shade between black and blue--except for one: On the shoulder blade, a colourful, vivid green-blue mark that was excruciatingly familiar to Dean. As she got back on stage the song picked up again, demonstrating the extent of her rehearsing, and in a final crescendo, she leapt and dropped onto her back, one leg bent under her, the other stretched out. She stayed there for a moment after the song ended, catching her breath as the audience applauded, before rolling over, flipping her hair and pushing herself up gracefully. Then, she looked into the audience, at nothing in particular, smiled widely, waved, and stepped off stage.  

The announcer told them that Angela Thursdays would return shortly, and Ash got up to order refills of their drinks. 

“Oh...my God.” Charlie giggled and shoved Dean lightly. “Was  _ she  _ the one you met? She was amazing!”

“Y-Yeah, she...she was. Is. She...she told me to meet her after the show, outside.”

“Wow, Winchester, your first night in New York and you’re already getting hit on by drag queens!” Benny laughed.

“Drag queens?” Dean’s brow furrowed, but the others looked at him oddly.

“You...didn’t know?” Charlie looked like she was trying to hide a smirk, and Dean fought a blush of embarrassment.

“I don’t...Sorry, Char, I don’t know what that means.”

Benny’s eyebrows raised. “Dean, a drag queen is basically a guy who dresses up like a woman to perform. How did you not know that?”

“Hey, man, I guess i just...didn’t. I never had a reason to! Oh, god, what if she...he--”

“--The general rule is ‘she’ in drag and their preferred pronouns out of it, Dean.” Charlie interjected.

“--What if  _ they _ get offended that I don’t know anything!?”

“Why does it matter?” Benny chuckled, accepting his drink from Ash as he arrived back. After the situation had been recapped for him, Dean supplied the answer.

“Because she had my soulmark.”

The table silenced.

“...But...i don’t understand.” Charlie voiced.

“We met, and she bumped into me, but by the time I realised, we had to head back to Kansas. That was months ago. Oh, fuck, what if she thinks I didn’t want anything to do with her, and that was why I haven’t come back?” 

“Well, you’d better explain, then!” Benny exclaimed.

Before anyone else could speak, the announcer spoke up, and another performer walked out, ready to perform. The song was upbeat, as were the following few songs, until the announcer declared that this was the last performer of the night before the DJ took over, and asked them to welcome back Angela Thursdays to the stage. 

This song was slow, and when she walked out, Dean felt his breath leave him briefly. 

She was beautiful; her makeup was dark this time, and she wore a long, black, silk-ish (again, cheap,) corset over a deep red shirt, hand-sewn, with baggy sleeves reminiscent of Morticia Addams. A dark and decadent halo (homemade,) sat upon her hair, which this time was long, dark at the roots and slowly becoming paler shades of red as it cascaded down her chest. Her skirt was short, more like a ruffle. Instead, she wore dark tights and long red and black leather boots, and behind her trailed a fine cape, of sorts, attached at one point on her back and her wrists. She moved around the stage serenely, until the song picked up.

Then, she danced. She sung silently to the music and hit every beat, and at the end of the song, the audience cheered and clapped, and when she left the stage, Dean got up.

“I-I have to go meet her. I’ll be outside.”

“Wait, we’re coming too!” Charlie sprung up, but Benny stiled her with a hand on her arm.

“Give them a minute. We can meet them in a bit. They don’t even know each other’s real names yet, Red.”

Dean sent him a thankful smile, shrugged on his coat, and left the club. 

He made his way into the vacant alley, lit by a single street lamp, and waited.

And waited.

And the feeling gre that maybe he was being stood up.

This feeling was amplified when a significantly more drunk Charlie, Ash, and Benny found their ways to him.

“Hey, Dean-O! How’d it go? Where is she? Uh...he?  _ Them.”  _ Ash fumbled.

_ “They _ . N-Not ‘them’. I th-think.” Charlie semi-corrected, though it was obvious that she herself was too drunk to correctly suss out the grammar of her own language. Or, the movement of her own feet, as she stumbled into Benny who caught her clumsily. 

“Calm down, guys. I haven’t seen her yet.” He supplied. “Why don’t you go back to the dorms, I’ll catch up.”

“Nah, no, it’s OK, we can wait!” Charlie reassured him, and the same time Ash leaned so heavily on Benny that they both almost fell over. “O-OK, so...maybe we’ll just get a headstart.”

The group turned and stumbled away, laughing at nothing at all.

Dean sighed, but jumped at the sound of a door banging open and raucous of laughs and shouts disturbed the night air. A man, maybe a few years older than Dean, in a long tan coat and cradling a duffell, stepped outside. He turned back to stick both his middle fingers up at whoever was laughing inside the door, and in response another bag like his own but a gaudy shade of pink, was hurled into his stomach. He bent to caught it and as he did so another man joined him, taking the pink bag when it was offered.

“You arsehole, Cassie, I  _ swear _ , if you tell anyone about this, I’ll--Oh.” The second man, who spoke with an English accent, was thin, almost lanky, with scruffy blond hair. He froze when he saw Dean, and after a moment, the first man seemed to realise what was going on.

“Balthazar, what--Oh. Hello, Dean.”

  
  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*

“Cassie, do you know this guy? Is he a fan? It’s always nice to meet the adoring public. Did you see me on  _ Drag Race _ ?” The blond man smiled charmingly and held out a hand, fingers elegantly pointed down. Dean disliked him.

“Balthazar, stop,” ‘Cassie’ shoved the man’s hand away, and smiled apologetically at Dean, “I’m sorry about him. I...I’m sorry I’m late out.”

“Do...Do I know you?” Dean asked, certain he’d never seen either of these men before.

Balthazar scoffed. “Please, Cassie’s makeup might be good, but it’s not  _ that _ good.”

Cassie elbowed Balthazar unsubtly. “Dean, I’m so sorry. I’m Castiel, though by now you probably know me by my stage name.”

“... _ Angela?”  _ Dean looked over the man, Angela-- _ Castiel _ ’s features. They looked completely different: a strong jaw and cheekbones, and dark, scruffy bedhead. He looked broader than he did in a dress, and definitely less curvy. But one look at those eyes and Dean was convinced. 

“Yes, that’s me. Uhm, Balth, would you mind? I’ll meet you back home, I just have to talk to him.” Castiel turned to Balthazar, and after a moment, the blond man sighed.

“Fine, Cassie, but you owe me an explanation. I can’t believe you’re ditching your sister for some  _ guy _ . Whatever happened to ‘hoes before bros? Sluts before butts? Sisters before misters?”

“ _ He’s my soulmate.”  _ Castiel growled, and Balthazar shut up. 

“Well, OK then. I’ll see you later, Cassie. Say safe.” He leant over and planted a kiss on Castiel’s cheek before walking past Dean and away from the club. He didn’t even look at Dean as they passed each other. 

When Dean looked at Castiel, the man looked shy, a complete 180 on his stage personas. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

There was silence for a moment, then both of them spoke at once.

“I’m sorry I left town--”

“Why didn’t you find me--”

They paused together and chuckled, then Castiel spoke. “I-I’m sorry. You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“Yeah, I do. It’s OK. We--me an’ my brother, he was there when we met last time--we had to leave quickly the next morning, I didn’t have time to find you, let alone work out it even was  _ you _ I had to find. I kinda bumped into a few people on my way, and I’m sure you know how hard in is to check our soulmarks.”

“...Where did you have to go back to?” Castiel’s voice was deep, and quiet, but it held a strength that Dean knew to be wary of.

“I’m from Kansas. I go to school at Columbia. This was my first night here.”

“Well, welcome to New York.” Castiel smiled softly. “What are you studying?”

“Uhm. Fashion and costume design.” 

Castiel blinked, and grinned. “Well, maybe I could use a guy like you.”

“Well I think I might just let you.” Dean smirked, and Castiel blushed before clearing his throat. 

“Well, Mr…” He trailed off, brow furrowing slightly. Dean decided to put him out of his misery.

“Winchester.”

“Mr Winchester, may I escort you back home? New York is an awfully big place when you don’t know it.” He offered his arm, which Dean took.

“Why, thank you, Mr…”

“--Novak--”

“Mr Novak! And I hope you don’t mind if we get to know each other on the way?”

Castiel chuckled. “Of course not. Ask away.” 

 

As they walked, Dean learned that Castiel was from Illinois, and had moved here on his seventeenth birthday after graduating high school a year early. He’d lived in New York for three years, in an apartment shared with three other drag performers: Balthazar, whose stage name was The Kween, and a drag king named Meg Masters, who went by Rogue Demon while performing. 

“So, why is your name ‘Angela Thursdays’?” Dean asked.

“Well, my mother named my siblings and me after Angels. ‘Castiel’ is known as Thursday’s Angel.”

“So, ‘Angela Thursdays’ is--” Dean grinned

“‘Angel of Thursdays, yes.” Castiel chuckled. “I thought it was a good name at the time.”

“It is good, man, I like it. How did you start doin’ all this?”

Castiel shrugged. “I’ve just...always been into it, I suppose. When I got here, I worked my way up the club circuit and made friends with as many people as I could. I made a name for myself, got myself  gimmick--the ‘Angel in a coat’ thing--and here I am.”

“Did you go to college?” Dean queried. He was surprised when Castiel flinched.

“Uh...no. But I don’t want you to think I’m an idiot, I know there’s a stereotype that a lot of queens aren’t intelligent enough to--”

“Hey, hey, I don’t think that. At all. Actually, uh,” Dean chuckled, “you’re the first drag queen I’ve met. Hell, you’re the first not-straight guy i’ve ever met. I didn’t even  _ know _ you were a drag queen until Charlie--the redhead at my table--told me, after your first song.” He blushed slightly, and it only increased when Castiel burst out into giggles.

“Oh, oh, I’m sorry, that--That’s just so  _ funny _ . So, wait, that first time we met, did you think I was a woman the entire time? Even when I spoke?”

Dean shrugged, embarrassed. “I...I didn’t think much of it. I was kinda concentrating on other things at the time. To be honest, I didn’t know that drag was a thing.” 

“Aah, the sheltered Kansas boy. Good to know. Think I could corrupt you?” Castiel smiled cheekily.

“I think I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. This is my building.” Dean pointed up at the grey building, and Castiel nodded dutifully.  

“Would you like me to walk you to your dorm?”

“No, it’s OK, I can manage. But, uh, I would like to have your number.”

Castiel smiled warmly and fished an eyeliner pen out of the pocket of his trench coat. He took Dean’s hand and began to write on the back of Dean’s hand. When he was done, he capped the pen and slipped it back into his pocket. Then, he brought Dean’s knuckles to his lips lightly and then dropped his hand. “Goodnight, Dean. Call me.”

When Dean got to his hall and found Charlie waiting up for him, still a little tipsy, and she fawned over Castiel’s number and perfect eyes. OK, so maybe that was mostly Dean. But it seemed like Charlie didn’t mind.

**Author's Note:**

> comment please! Also, AL-P, if u read this, hi! please keep being my friend after u read my terrible fics! :)


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